


i see you, you see me

by rosedolores



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post-Thor (2011), Sexual Tension, Thor Feels, Unresolved Sexual Tension, a lil touching and hugging happens, lips closer than they should be probs, loki is somewhat kind and understanding, some magic and feelings, sometimes they clash in NYC, thor having those good midnight life crisis feels, thor is shirtless my good pals, thor is with the avengers and loki is not so evil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-11 14:02:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12936813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosedolores/pseuds/rosedolores
Summary: "His hair is longer than Thor remembers, full with soft curls, falling around his face, unruly like the waves of the ocean, and in a moment of madness, he thinks that Loki just got out of bed, his body still sleep-warm, with indistinct creases from the sheets, but that can’t be, so he stops at that. The fingers of his left hand twitch and he tries to hide it by grabbing that blasted gray couch, but Loki saw it, of course he saw it."Thor has nightmares in Stark Tower and can't sleep, so Loki visits in the middle of the night and tries to help. And Thor remembers.





	i see you, you see me

**Author's Note:**

> hello!!
> 
> this is a totally self-indulgent fic, thor is feeling down and kinda trapped, and loki knows so he helps  
> idk what happened here, this got kinda long for a drabble so im posting it in two chaps.  
> anyway i hope u will enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it, and if anything needs to be tagged or ya know you just want to scream at me abt them in general drop your girl here a line!  
> thank u!
> 
> kudos and comments are life i want to improve my writing so come at me my friends

He sighs as he stops in the middle of his apartment in Stark Tower, the couch a calm gray, luxurious and soft beneath his palms as he leans down to support his weight on it’s back. In a past life, so long ago it’s almost forgotten, he would have never bowed his head, he thought himself the bearer of worlds, golden and strong, infinite. Proud.

 _Now_. Now he feels every one of his bones in his body crumble, like thousand of centuries old temples collapse on themselves, beneath the wreckage remains nothing, the debris spreads out, buries the ground, kills before it could grow out new life.

Thor feels at his very core, that he is _tired._ He bows his head, his hair falling down his shoulders, feels the slide. He wants to cry and scream, wants to fall on his knees and pray and hope, but he can’t. He doesn’t know how. For once he wants someone to guide him, to show him how to heal the ever growing blackness that, and he is certain of it, became of his tattered soul. He hasn’t slept for _weeks,_ the few hours he managed are plagued with dreams that leave him terrified.

Thor opens his eyes and looks around, searching for something he long knows won’t find.

The place in enormous, all sleek glass and sharp edges, every piece of furniture is of Tony’s choosing, fitting for a fallen god. New York City and its midnight shadows paint his whole apartment black and gray, just like this damned couch, that, he faintly becomes aware of it, he is gripping now so hard, his joints ache with the pressure of it.

He looks, and looks, looks out the windows, they are floor to ceiling, he sees the black horizon. Looks over his shoulder, back to his bedroom, through the ajar door, that is gaping wide like a monsters mouth, where he sees his bed, the sheet crumpled, his blankets halfway down on the floor, the way he left them when he fled from there, tried to outrun his clinging dreams, spilled ink that covers everything.

The sheet is white, his blankets are black, one pillow is gray, he can’t see the other one. He feels himself starting to panic, like he has forgotten how to see colors, desperately tries to recall the golden fur of his mother’s lionesses, tries to picture them again and again, one with the eyes of the sky in the morning hours, so pale blue almost white, lazy knowledge behind them.

The other’s eye were mismatched, the left is brown, deep like the rich soil from which would grow the healthiest peachtrees, their fruits would feed them through the winter. The right eye were scarred, an even gash from her sister, when they were small, not quite knowing the extent of their strenghts, her vision now forever disrupted, but still, blue just like her sibling’s, only it’s a deeper hue, with flecks of browns and blacks. He always imagined, that if a witch were to come to the palace to curse him and his brother, her eyes would be this color.

He remembers being small, scared of the beasts, their fangs glinting white-yellow when they would yawn, yet, _yet_. Telling his mother, smiling at her while burying his hand in the lioness’ fur, that this one is his favorite, the mismatched one, she is unique, and he likes her strangeness.

 _He never knew how to be properly afraid_.

Thor takes deep breaths, tries to calm down, tries to forget and remember at the same time, forget his wretched dream, the reason he stands here useless, remember colors from his past life, emotions, anything so that there is at least some reassurance for him that once he was more than _this._ Here he stands reduced to nothing, fading, fading.

He should move, should drink a glass of cold water, maybe dump his head under the faucet, let the water soak his hair, anything just to kick himself out from this strange moment, this spot where he feels himself slipping around the edges.

Thor finally budges, and he would laugh at himself for feeling almost proud that he managed to take a step towards the kitchen, were he not so, so impossibly tired.

He knows with unbidden clarity, as he moves trough the apartment, that he still have not managed to carve out his own space, here on Midgard. It frustrates him to no end, a soul deep memory of his former self screams and demands his right to exist, so used to being. He desperately tries to silence it.

He opens the faucet and watches as the water rises and rises in his tall glass, then tops it and spills over his knuckles, feels the cold and welcomes it. He lets out a shaky breath, and that is when he sees it. What he should have realized minutes ago. He can see his breath in the cold air, feels his skin prickle all over his body; he is not wearing a shirt, he tossed it in his fever dream, probably lies somewhere on the floor in the shadows of his bedroom. His soft sleeping pants bring no warmth.

Thor stops the faucet, stands stone still in the ringing silence, glass long forgotten in the sink. Counts his breaths, his heartbeats, one, two, and he feels the heavy magic in the air, presses on him sweetly, sickly. And suddenly he knows.

He curses himself for this in his long life again and again, because exactly the familiarity of this magic should mean that he should be aware of his surroundings, that he _should know better than this brother mine…_

But he got so used to the flavour of this peculiar kind of magic; that he knows everything is in its right place when it’s around, but feels its absence intensely. Oh well. _He never knew how to be properly afraid._

Thor turns and looks around, tries to see past the shadows and glasses and windows, and he knows himself at least that much to realize; he is starting to hate being here. Everything is false and a duplicate, a reflection. Mirrors showing nothing, doors leading nowhere.

He goes around the kitchen island, solid black marble, lets his fingers brush the frozen surface, back into the living room, to the gray, gray gray couch. He also hates this couch, he decides.

"Loki, stop this.” He tries to sound authoritative, hopes to gain back some of his former self from this upcoming meeting. He dreads the way he will come out of it. Loki has been playing with them for a while now here on Midgard, causing havoc and disappearing with a smile too sharp. Thor would try to understand his brother, fail in it, would try to think of a way so that he can bring Loki back to his side, because that is _where he belongs he knows_ , only to come up with nothing.

A few peaceful weeks or months, and the cycle repeats again, and again, and _again._ He loathes this irregularity, never knowing if Loki is really here or there. Sometimes, when he walks the streets he thinks it’s his brother he sees in the reflection of the small coffee shop he frequents, sees him on the other side of the fountain in the park, only for the next glittering sprinkle of water to obscure his view from him, and when the water falls down, his brother is gone, leaving Thor off-balance and his chest empty.

It tires him. Seeing Loki, only to know that he will disappear again, seeing him again, only to question himself if he really is seeing Loki, or if it’s just a cruel play of his own mind. Rebellion in its finest form, destroying from the inside, leaving an empty shell behind, nothing more. Haunted by a living ghost.

Thor remembers, the very first time, when he touched with shaking fingers the mismatched eyed lioness’ fur, right on the side of her strong neck, Loki stood at the other side of the hall, silently observing, _waiting._

"Loki.” Thor says again, impatient. Thinks about going back to his bedroom to find his shirt and put it on, but he won’t move until he sees his brother. Refuses.

"Brother.”

The voice is coming from behind him, velvety with false kindness, and Thor braces himself before turning. And to think he believed tonight is the night that he will have a restful sleep, away from his suffocating dreams, the thorns a little gentler in his side.

Loki is standing before him, his smile almost gentle on his face, one hand behind his back, the other holding the glass of water Thor left in the sink, only halfway full now. His clothes are black, and Thor tries to find color on him, but there is none.

Looks at his eyes, and even from the three step distance, he sees them deep green, a ray of moonlight gives them a mysterious shine, hiding a certain type of cruel wisdom, that shouldn't be there, and Thor thinks of the lioness and her sister, who gave her the gash across her eye.

"I thought you were thirsty, brother,” Loki dips his head to the side a little, watches Thor, then lifts the glass to his own lips, and takes a few sips, only tasting it, selfishly claims it his before anything. "Here.”

He steps closer, and extends the glass, a small offering to a god, but it will do.

And Thor, before he can even think about it, reaches for the glass, and wonders what does it tell about him. He drains it, the water soothing his nerves, and he realizes that he no longer feels cold, the temperature is back to normal. He puts the glass on the end table beside the couch, it doesn’t make a sound, and sees Loki smile grow wider.

"Why are you here?” He asks.

"Why wouldn’t I be here, with my kin?” Loki asks back lightly, in good humor, and Thor thinks about choking him. He is _tired._

"I don’t want to play games with you brother, not tonight. Tell me what you wish to tell, then leave me be.”

"So you would play games with me any other time?” Loki asks, almost laughing, but Thor just stares at him, so he clicks his tounge, _still so insolent, he will never grow out of it_ , and answers,

"You seemed a little more…frustrated as of late, and you know my curiosity.” Loki is smiling again, but he looks out of the windows for a moment, blinks, and looks back at Thor.

His hair is longer than Thor remembers, full with soft curls, falling around his face, unruly like the waves of the ocean, and in a moment of madness, he thinks that Loki just got out of bed, his body still sleep-warm, with indistinct creases from the sheets, but that can’t be, so he stops at that. The fingers of his left hand twitch and he tries to hide it by grabbing that blasted gray couch, but Loki saw it, of course he saw it.

"The very source of my agitation asks about my well-being.”Thor smiles, he can’t help himself, not when this might be the first normal conversation with his brother in almost a year.

Loki just ducks his head with a knowing smile, not looking at him, but he also places his hand on the back of the couch, long fingers almost petting the drapery. Thor has to remind himself of the times those fingers, that very hand pushed cold steel between his ribs, or drew runes in the air, smart mouth calling them alive with words of an ancient language whispered softly, oh so softly, but just as deadly.

He still feels this moment extremely intimate, and suddenly the place he thought he would come to hate with every bit of his being, starts to reshape around him, making space for him and Loki, and it feels _natural._

"This couch is ugly Thor. The color of it? Horrible. It’s the color of something dead and rotten, it’s not fitting for you.” Loki comes closer as he says this, almost crowding Thor, slightly looking up at him, and Thor leans against the couch, that, apparently, they both hate and he huffs with laughter.

See, if something is not for Loki’s tastes, even if that something is not even _his,_ he will tell that it’s ugly. Unsightly. Hideous. Distasteful. He doesn’t express himself by saying that _he_ doesn’t like it. If he finds something unpleasant, then it is universally, and everyone must act accordingly. In some aspects he is still so undeniably _spoiled._

Thor feels himself relax, his sore muscles loosen, and his reeling mind gets quieter and quieter the longer he looks at Loki, and distinctly he wonders if Loki has done something to him, somehow put a spell on him.

Maybe the fact that he is unarmed, without his armor protecting his heart, while Loki is this close, should worry him. But he doesn’t care. Let Loki put another scar on him, another reminder of his brother, of his own failure, permanent on his skin until the end of the worlds. Until everything collapses. He is terribly tired, the long sleepless nights are starting to become more constant in his life than anything nowadays, and he doesn’t care about anything now.

"I quite like it actually.” he lies, just to be defiant. He likes to ruffle Loki’s feathers just as much as Loki does his. When will they stop? When  _can_ they stop?

He sits on the edge of the back of the couch, his exhaustion claiming this victory over his body, his legs streched out in front of him, and Loki, his wretched little brother, just steps in between them. Thor feels the urge to hold him closer, grab him around his lithe waist, drag him against his body and just bury his face in Loki’s neck, away from everything, to be allowed to be a coward, and forget, forget,  _forget_. He stills his hands in his lap.

He knows Loki wouldn’t grant him this kind mercy anyway.

"Then I shall do something about it, brother.” Loki says this soft, leans closer and closer, and Thor just stares. From the corner of his eye, he sees Loki’s hand touch the sofa again, and when he looks down, the ugly, damned gray  _finally_  gone, the couch is now a deep yellow, not vibrant, which hurts the eyes, but the kind he saw in Oklahoma, on a sunflower field late summer. Their heads were heavy and ripe, filled with seeds, and he thought about his mother, of how much she would like them.

"This color pleases you more?” he asks, incredulous, but he can’t say that he hates it.

Loki’s hand is still on the back of the couch, beside him, and he is too aware of this fact.

"I was hoping it would please you.” Loki  _almost_  pulls his mouth in irritation, Thor can see the familiar telltale signs, but stops himself, only strains his jaw. He looks up at him stubborn, like it’s a challenge.

And Thor can’t do anything else really, he wants to lie again, he wants to hurt him so badly, but lifetimes spent with his brother—spoiling him rotten, forgiving bigger and bigger misdeeds—force him into the kindness only Loki can bring out of him, so he sighs, defeated;

"Thank you, brother.” Thor reaches out his hand, tugs a little on one of Loki’s curls, black like the dark vastness between trees at night, slips his fingers on his neck, and draws him closer gently, with such tenderness he suprises himself. He thought he lost this side of his self, years ago, with a brother dead in his arms.

He faintly hears Loki's reedy gasp, then bumps their foreheads together, asking for the verdict, the sentence which will push him back to that ugly place he calls his mind these days. But Loki just closes his eyes and hums. Thor lives another day.

"You really should sleep more. Fatigue makes you sentimental.” Thor feels Loki’s words on his skin, on his lips, and he feels thirsty again, licks his lips, tries to think about  _anything._  He laughs softly, but it sounds hollow even to his own ears. He stares down the space between them, unseeing.

"I’m  _trying_  Loki. It seems to me I’ve forgotten  _how.”_ He is not desperate. He is not.

"Oh, but it's the easiest thing to do. You close your eyes and just sleep.” Loki rubs their foreheads together a little, a kind gesture from their childhood and abruptly Thor wonders if this is just a hallucination, his mind so tired, it creates its own world, Thor being merely a spectator. This is the only explanation he can come up with, for Loki to be so considerate of all things.

Thor doesn’t whine, but he is close, he can’t make his brother understand that his own body, to which he owns his strength, is giving up on him. He growls, jostling them both a little, suddenly intolerant. But Loki just places his hands on his cheeks, cool and soothing, and whispers into the thin air between them, like a secret never known to the world;

"You will overcome this, Thor. You can and you will.” And Thor believes.

His brother lies and lies, spits out words that cut deeper than his knives ever will. He will make havoc, and he will wait until Thor is close enough to catch him, and just at the right moment he will smile at Thor and disappear from his sight, leaving his brother  _again._

Do they even want to stop?

Thor takes a shuddering breath, but he still feels like he is without air. He wraps his other arm around Loki’s waist, the way he should have done minutes,  _centuries_  ago, and hugs him closer.

He puts his head on Loki’s shoulder, feels his eyelids become heavier with each heartbeat that thuds against him.

Loki’s hands are gentle on his back, holds him secure, and he closes his eyes just for a moment, he will rest and then say goodbye to Loki, because he knows in his weary heart that if this is real, this will never happen again. Loki won’t come to him, so that he can complain about the color of Thor’s couch. His brother won’t be in his arms like this ever again. He squeezes Loki’s waist at the thought, obstinate. Childish.

He needs to apologise, for the things he has ever done, and for the things he  _should_  have done, so for them he presses a small kiss to Loki's shoulder and then another, his leather coat smooth under his lips, apology and forgiveness all the same, for what they will do to each other.

He will feel the leather on his lips for days.

He closes his eyes, and sees the two lionesses, wandering in his mother’s garden, the sun shines on their fur, their necks clad in golden, and sees Loki, as they walk towards him. Loki smiles and reaches down, pets the one which scarred her sister, murmurs something to her Thor can’t hear.

Thor opens his eyes again, and he is in his bed, he blinks, still quite disoriented. It’s morning, the whole apartment is spacious and bright again, the shadows of the night, the hungry jaws of monsters unseen in the darkness are nowhere now. He is not tired.

Thor is so,  _terribly_ afraid but he has to know.

He doesn’t want to leave the warmth of his bed, not yet, so he leans out, out, until he can see into the living room, and he sees the couch, bright and yellow amidst the blacks and grays.

 

**Author's Note:**

> hello!!
> 
> this is a totally self indulgent fic, thor is feeling down and kinda trapped, and loki knows so he helps  
> idk what happened here, this got kinda long so im posting it in two chaps.  
> anyway i hope u will enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it, and if anything needs to be tagged or ya know you just want to scream at me abt them in general drop your girl here a line!  
> thank u!
> 
> kudos and comments are life i want to improve my writing so come at me my friends


End file.
